


Violet

by Koyote19



Series: Visible Light [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Humor, Visible Light, abuse of mythology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 22:51:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2446076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koyote19/pseuds/Koyote19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valkyries and the fine art of Motorcycle Maintenance</p>
            </blockquote>





	Violet

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of seven (planned) short humor fics based loosely around the visible light spectrum. They are in no particular order, and are not set at any particular time either pre-series or during the show. This one is Het, though some of the others are Gen.

The problem with Dean, Sam muses thoughtfully as he watches his brother duck a flying socket wrench from the safety of the Impala’s front seat, is that the few times he actually tries to be chivalrous it always backfires.

They’d been three hours from anywhere, in the most godforsaken stretch of West Texas imaginable, when they saw the brilliant purple motorcycle parked on the side of the road. The rider had apparently shed jacket and leathers in self preservation, leaving her standing by the stranded bike in tight jeans and an even tighter sleeveless white t-shirt. Considering it was August and the temperature was averaging somewhere just shy of inferno, Sam had offered only token protest when Dean pulled the Impala onto the shoulder and got out.

It’s hot enough inside the car that Sam begins to think he’s sitting in an oven instead. He debates actually just getting out of the car and going to sit on the hood, but the screwdriver that had flown by a few minutes earlier had convinced him that inside the car is a much safer vantage point to watch the show. Swiping at the sweat beading his forehead and dripping into his eyes, he leans across the car to shove the driver’s door open as well; he’s nearly given up on enough breeze stirring through just the open windows, as it doesn’t seem to be doing any good.

He really wishes he had some popcorn though, and maybe a video camera.

Pulling out his phone instead, he waits until the girl straightens again, snapping the picture just as a second wrench arcs through the air to smack Dean in the chest. His brother leaps back with an outraged yelp, chivalry abandoned in a heartbeat for pure fury.

Watching the argument taking place across the leather seat of the motorcycle, Sam can’t help noticing that in the sunlight, Dean and the girl could be mirror images-- all blond hair, denim and attitude, blue eyes challenging green, and voices mingling into one in the blurry heat. Smiling a little, Sam starts a betting pool with the Impala for how long it will take for blows and shouts to change to groping and whispers in the scrubby sand by the side of the road.

The Impala wins, of course.

With a disgusted grunt, Sam abandons the car as bodies tumble into the backseat-- Dean muttering introductions to him as Hilde waves distractedly. Shaking his head, Sam gathers up the strewn tools and wanders over to examine the Honda abandoned by the side of the road. He has nothing but time to kill now, and while he’d never admit it to Dean, he’s picked up a more than adequate knowledge of mechanics from his family over the year.

Two hours later, Hilde and the bike are long gone into the shimmering violet haze of twilight, a breeze has finally started blowing over the rise of mountains in the distance… and they’re back on the road. Sam drives, as Dean silently contemplates the single white feather left on the back seat when Hilde slipped away into the dusk.


End file.
